Son of the Orginal
by Demigirl17
Summary: Sons of Zeus are being enslaved to Hera, the problem is Sherlock isn't the son of Zeus. Raised by John, controlled by the gods, loved by Aphrodite, and envied by Mycroft, Sherlock is in for an interesting life. Maybe become M later...not sure. Dark.
1. Master John

The boy was fast.

John's sandals slapped the earth beneath him as he made another dive for the child, but at the last second the boy switched directions. John crashed painfully into an old oak tree that cracked as his weight went through it. Demigods tended to have that effect on nature. He rose to his knees and shook his head. Blonde hair fell into his eyes. He was surprised at the child's timing, he seemed to know exactly when to twist or turn.

Mycroft was calling out orders behind him, no doubt shouting himself hoarse. John knew the boy was scared, they had all been scared, but the end was always inevitable. Sons of Zeus were always enslaved to Hera, it was their curse. John rose back to his feet.

"Boy!" He shouted. "Child!"

He heard scampering in the distance. The boy was trying to climb into a tree. His small hands were gripping desperately at a branch that was just above his tiny fingers. He noticed John staring at him and squealed. He tried to jump higher.

John felt pity for the boy with black hair and their father's eyes. He took a step towards the small figure. The boy put his back against the tree with his wild blue eyes challenging the older man fiercely. John lips betrayed a small smile at the thin little boy.

He was braver than any of them had been, but he was also older. John, himself had been taken at the age of four, this boy was seven maybe eight. The boy had known his mother and had probably loved her well. John had been raised by Mycroft, who had no doubt just killed off the small boy's mother. John took a small step towards the dark haired boy.

"What is your name, child?" He said softly.

"Sherlock." The boy said harshly.

"Sherlock, that is a good strong name." John said encouragely.

The boy looked surprised at the kind words, he shifted his feet nervously. John gave a small smile. "My name is Jonathan, but you can call me John. How old are you, child?"

"Seven."

The hunter dogs barked angrily behind him. Sherlock's little face paled.

John stepped forward so quickly the small boy didn't have time to react. John hoisted him up into the tree by the collar of the rags he was wearing. He pushed him up into the tree forcefully. The boy whimpered as his knee collided into the hard bark. "Sherlock, keep climbing the tree. Do not stop until you are well hidden. I can't save you if Mycroft finds you, understand?"

The boy's eyes widened to the size of small pebbles. John made sure he was secure on his branch before he took a step away from the small boy. "Stay hidden."

John didn't know why he felt pity for the small child. He had always found it easy to complete his missions before. Perhaps it was the way the child looked at him, not with fear like the rest of the children. His eyes had blazed with confidence that hid the fear behind them.

Mycroft was shouting behind him, angrily giving commands to soldiers who were looking in vain for a smart little boy. John smiled, the boy was clever there was no doubt about that. It had taken five sons of Zeus to bring down a seven year old. Mycroft darted up to him.

"Have you seen the boy?"

"No, Master." John said calmly.

"Well search over there with the others then!" Mycroft grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and shoved him forward. John stumbled to join the others.

"I want him found!"

Above him there was a small rustling sound. Mycroft cocked his head to the side as he glared into the tree. He couldn't make out the small figure that clung strategically to the middle of the trunk. He called John back to him. "Are you positive you haven't seen the boy?"

"Yes, Master." John lied easily.

"Then what is that?" He pointed into the tree where the sound was coming from.

"Wind?" John's question was answered with a hard strike across the face. John dropped to one knee with blood coursing from his nose. He gave a small grunt.

"Our father is the king of wind. If it was that, I would know. Get into that tree and pull whatever you find down here."

"Does that include leaves, Mycroft?" John growled through his fingers. Mycroft raised his hand and struck him again across the jaw repeatedly. He gripped his throat tightly in his hand.

"Do you wish to defy me, Jonathan?"

"No." John struggled for air. His feet dangled uselessly beneath him, he didn't dare kick his master. John's eyes began to roll back into his head. He gave a final gasp, ready to pass out.

"No!" A small voice shrieked from the tree. The boy slid down the trunk carefully and jumped down the last few feet. He rushed behind the eldest man and gave a mighty kick to his shins. Mycroft dropped John to the ground with the little boy locked in his sights.

"Don't hurt him!" The boy tried to kick him again, but Mycroft struck him almost as hard as he had John. The boy staggered backwards, his foot caught on a rock. He tumbled onto his butt without as much as a cry. His eyes were blazing with hatred. John couldn't help but admire the child. "Don't you hurt him!"

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. He picked the boy up by the back of his ragged shirt and shook him. The child squirmed viciously in his grip. John rose to his feet slowly.

"Mycroft, please. He's scared." John said softly. He wiped his nose bleed on his sleeve. "Remember how scared you were?"

"I knew who my superiors were, I gave myself up."

"Then you're a big baby!" Sherlock shouted. His feet were kicking wildly beneath him. "You should have fought back. You should have ran!"

"I'll show you where running gets you." He smacked the boy across his ribcage. Sherlock screamed in pain, Mycroft repeatedly smashed his fist into the small boy's body.

"Mycroft please!" John snatched the child out of his master's vice grip and held him against his chest. Sherlock wrapped his thin arms around John's neck and his legs around his stomach. John could already see bruises forming on his small body. The medical doctor in him wanted to examine the boy immediately, the slave in him waited for Mycroft to give him permission.

"He is an insolent child." Mycroft snarled, his face was full of rage. "I will beat it out of him.

"Sherlock, apologize for what you said to Mycroft." He said softly into the boy's ear. Sherlock shook his dark head. John gave him a gently squeeze, which caused him to flinch. "If you don't they may beat you again. Do you want that?"

Sherlock had tears in his eyes that refused to fall. "No."

"Apologize."

"I am sorry, Mycroft. I'm sure you didn't mean to be a complete chicken."

Mycroft lunged at the child with murder in his eyes. John quickly sidestepped him with the child held closely to his chest. "Hera wanted him unharmed, Master."

"Hera will put him in my care, and then we'll see exactly what how he feels about his new master."

Sherlock's tiny arms tightened around John's neck. "You're not my master!"

Mycroft turned on his heel to prevent himself from punching the boy any more than he already had. "I'm going to round up our brothers. Bring him to Olympus, clean him up, and gag him before he goes to Hera."

Sherlock whimpered, but at last had the sense to stay silent. Mycroft shimmered and disappeared in bright gold light. Sherlock took the opportunity look at John's face properly. He saw friendly blue eyes, untidy blonde hair, and an oddly shaped nose that made him seem younger. He put his small hands on his face to feel John smile. He giggled happily as the man's muscles turned up.

John laughed and set the child down, while holding tightly to the boy's hand. He gently pulled the boy's shirt up to see the dark welts forming on his stomach. John touched them tenderly, a small green light formed under his fingers. The wounds began to vanish.

The boy gasped. "Are you a god, sir?"

"No, child. I am a slave to Apollo when I am not serving Hera."

"Which god will I be a slave too?"

"I don't know, child."

"Will Mycroft really be my master?" He said with his eyes trained on his disappearing injuries.

John hesitated. The child was clinging to his hand already, as if scared someone would take John away from him. He hoisted the child back into his arms. "If you behave, if you do exactly as I say, I may be able to get Hera to agree that I should be your master. MAY BE able to, but Sherlock you must behave."

Sherlock looked away from John. "I don't want anyone to be my master."

"I am sorry, boy. I will be a good master to you though. I swear, Sherlock."

"Thank you, sir." The tears in the boy's eyes finally fell. John protectively put his hand on the Sherlock's head. The dark curls tickled his palm. "Thank you, Master John."

Both bodies began to shimmer in a bright dazzling gold light. The world around them began to fade, as Olympus came into view. Sherlock gasped as he saw the home of the gods.

Olympus was beautiful, mostly because of the slaves that kept it that way. It had lush green grass that was perfectly kept, there wasn't a brown spot to be found, there were flowers Sherlock had never seen before, that were colors Earth had not been entitled to, the castle that sat on the mountain was a brilliant gold and white color, and it had a statue that depicted Zeus in the most beautiful way.

Sherlock struggled for words. "It…I…will I…"

"You can ask questions, you know." John chuckled warmly.

"No. The answers are all obvious, Master John. I'm just startled." Sherlock whispered.

John didn't know what to say to the young boy. Sherlock didn't seem to be stupid, in fact he seemed too clever for his own good. It was not a good quality for a slave to have.

"Sherlock, how would you like to see my home?"

The boy nodded eagerly. John pressed his forehead to Sherlock's, he felt a great tenderness for the boy well up in his chest. John took him to his small hut, it wasn't much, it probably wouldn't be enough for the two of them, but Sherlock loved it.

"You live in a house, Master?"

"Of course I do, boy."

"My mother and I didn't." Sherlock said as if in a trance. "Where is my mother? Is she alright? Did Mycroft hurt her?" Sherlock's eyes were frantic. He wiggled to be put down.

"I won't lie to Sherlock, it is unlikely your mother survived."

Sherlock gave a small hiccup. He feel to his knees with a muffled sob, John wrapped his arms around the boy's shoulders, and helped him to his feet. Sherlock was too numb to walk on his own. He had to lean his weight into John's leg, he sobbed loudly at the thought of his mother passing.

He didn't realize he was in John's tiny bathroom, until the older man pulled his rags gently off him. John plopped him into the tub, the boy shrieked as the hot water meet his skin. His muscles relaxed slowly into the side of the tub. He bowed his and sobbed into the hot water. John scrubbed his back until the water turned a light brown. Sherlock refused to let him scrub his front, he insisted he could do it himself. When he came out of the tub John realized how pale the boy truly was.

With all the dirt washed away Sherlock looked like a ghost. He was so thin John immediately went into his kitchen and got an apple. He cut it into small pieces and passed the plate to Sherlock. Sherlock shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

"Eat." John demanded sternly.

"You just told me my mother died. How can you expect me to eat?" He snapped.

John raised his hand in the air menacingly, Sherlock flinched immediately. "You promised, John. You promised to be a good master." He took an apple swiftly to avoid being hit. He bit into it with a disgusted look. He chewed slowly, but looked as if he wanted to spit it out.

"Sherlock. Sherlock, don't eat…don't eat if you don't want to. You're just so thin, I worry about you."

"You worry about my wellbeing, and yet you raise a hand to strike me? That's idiotic."

John gapped at the boy. "Sherlock?"

"Sorry! I'm sorry, please don't hit me." He flinched with his hands in front of his face.

"I will never hit you Sherlock. I'm sorry I raised my hand to you, it's how I was brought up. Mycroft used to make it so I couldn't walk."

"Master John, will Mycroft do that to me?" He asked with watery eyes.

"Please, Sherlock, please behave when you meet Hera. If you do this Mycroft will never touch you. When you meet Hera bow and then kneel. Don't speak unless spoken to, do not speak as you speak to me. You must even be respectful to Mycroft."

"But…"

"Sherlock."

"Yes, sir."

John helped the boy out of the tub and into a fresh tunic. Sherlock looked younger with the large tunic on and a clean pale face. He smiled at John happily. There was a loud knock on the door. Sherlock ran into John's arms at the sound.

"Don't leave me, Master John!"

"Hush, child, hush. It's only Mycroft come to collect us." John soothed.

Mycroft opened the door after the third knock. He had changed as well. He wore an odd looking toga that showed off his muscles. Sherlock clung to John nervously.

"I hope he hasn't grown too close to you, John. I assure you he won't see you after today."

"Forgive me if I doubt you, Master." He smiled at the boy.

"I told you to gag him." Mycroft said shortly.

"He doesn't need one, Mycroft. He was just scared, as I told you."

"Is this true, child?"

Sherlock looked at John. It was clear he was biting back retorts. "Yes, sir."

"Very well then, but I warn you do not cross me."

"I won't, sir."

Mycroft nodded approvingly. "Come."

Sherlock made the movement children often did when they wanted to be picked up, his hands grasped the air in front of him. John complied. Mycroft sneered at the weakness of a child. John once again protectively placed his hands on the child's back and head. Sherlock nuzzled his palm.

Mycroft lead them on a long path that lead down to large arena. The arena was painted a bright white, that reflected the sun so much Sherlock shielded his eyes in John's neck. John wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Sherlock whimper.

"I'm here, Sherlock." He whispered soothing.

"Thank you, sir." He whispered back.

They entered the arena. It seemed to Sherlock that the light only grew brighter, he pulled his face away from John's neck. At the other end of the arena sat a beautiful woman, Sherlock gave a small gasp at the site of her.

She had long brown hair that was perfectly braided down the side of her body. She was slender with challenging blue eyes. She was almost as tall as Mycroft, who Sherlock identified as six and a half feet tall. John set him on the ground and bowed low. Sherlock followed his movements.

John took several steps forward until he was at the base of the throne, where he kneeled in the dirt. Mycroft followed him, both man kept their heads down, but Sherlock stood in the entrance looking stunned.

"Mother?" He gasped.

"No, my child." She said warmly for a goddess. "I am the queen of heaven, mother of all. That is why you see your mother in my face." She smiled. Sherlock couldn't help, but smile back.

"You are beautiful ma'am." He wanted her to know how pretty she looked to him. He didn't know why, but he knew he needed her to know. "Really, properly beautiful."

"Thank you, my love." She made a motion that he should join John and Mycroft at her feet.

He checked himself immediately. "Yes, ma'am! Sorry ma'am." He knelt next to John and after a moment bowed his head. John gave him a long hard look that made Sherlock blush. He hadn't made it two minutes before he disobeyed John. Even his mother had a problem controlling him when there was something on his mind. "Sorry."

John quickly shushed him as Hera began to speak. "My lord Mycroft, tell me, did this child come willing?"

"No, lady. He fought very hard to stay away from us."

"Was it explained to him that his queen wished him to come to Olympus?" She asked grandly.

"Of course, my lady."

"After threw me into a wall." Sherlock muttered. He flinched as he realized he had once again disobeyed.

"What was that, child?" Hera's voice sounded amused.

"He threw me into a wall so hard I lost my back tooth, my lady. He kicked me in front of my mother until…" He stopped at the mention of his mother. "I was frightened so I ran. I didn't mean to be disrespectful." He paused.

"How did the boy manage to avoid you for so long, Mycroft?" She hid a giggle in her hand at the clever boy. He was quite the charmer,

"Help." Mycroft looked at John accusingly.

John stayed silent.

"Is this true, John?"

"Yes, my lady." He whispered softly. "I helped him hide in a tree, he was terrified Mycroft would kill him."

"Why did you not bring him to your master?"

"I was also afraid Mycroft would kill him. Mycroft doesn't like older children, and I was concerned an accident may occur."

Hera nodded. "It is true Mycroft doesn't like older children, but I doubt he would kill him. I gave him direct orders to keep him alive."

John bit his lip so hard blood dripped from it. He remained silent until Hera noticed the blood. "Speak, John."

"My lady there has been accidents before where children have gone missing. Mycroft is careless with children, I would sooner give Sherlock to the wolves than Mycroft. He…"

"Enough! You will not speak to your master like that!" The queen scoffed. "Mycroft will discipline you as he sees fit."

Almost instantaneously Mycroft kicked John full in the face. John's body flew over Sherlock's and landed with a small crunch a few feet away. Sherlock screamed.

"No! Why would you tell him to speak and then punish him for it? If you don't want him to speak don't give him permission!"

"Not giving permission hasn't stopped you, boy!" Mycroft made a mad kick towards Sherlock's ribs, but the boy rolled and managed to rise.

"He didn't do anything wrong!"

"Unlike you, child. You have done everything wrong." Mycroft's eyes were white with rage.

"Then punish me, but leave Master John alone!" Sherlock demanded.

Mycroft raised his fist. Sherlock cringed, but didn't move to escape the blow. Hera stopped Mycroft with a swift hand gesture that sent him flying across the arena. Sherlock dropped to his knees in fear.

"You are a very brave boy when it comes to people you love, aren't you?"

"Yes ma'am."

"You wish for John to be your master instead of Mycroft." It wasn't a question.

"Yes ma'am." Sherlock looked to where John was laying unmoving.

"Go to him."

Sherlock pitched himself to John's side. "Master! Please, please be alright."

"Sherlock." The older man groaned.

"Master." Sherlock said softly. "I'm sorry I disobeyed you. This is my fault."

"No. No, Sherlock. It's not your fault."

Sherlock let a small cry, but nodded at his master. "I'm still sorry."

Hera smiled warmly. "Sherlock I have enjoyed meeting you, and I see now it is easier for you to obey someone you care about over someone who beats you. You may stay with John, as long as you obey me fully."

Sherlock nodded frantically. "I will ma'am. I promise."

She smiled at the youth. "I am sure you will."

Mycroft stuttered stupidly. "M-my lady?"

Hera smiled inwardly to herself. As the boy grew older he'd need to be controlled, and his heart would make him more obedient than any blows Mycroft would deliver.


	2. Dragon Door

John knew he had to punish Sherlock.

The boy had disobeyed him several times, and it could no longer go unnoticed. Sherlock chattered to him like a small bird on the way back to their small hut. He held John's hand tightly as if he was still scared Hera would take him away. John held onto his stomach with his free arm. Mycroft's blow had made it nearly impossible to breath.

"Master, are you okay?"

"I'm fine Sherlock. Open the door, please."

Sherlock ran forward to follow his master's request, his little hands pulled the knob. John stumbled through the door. His breathing was becoming dangerously shallow. Sherlock ran to get him water, he brought back a small cup full. John smiled gratefully.

"Thank you, boy."

Sherlock nodded and helped him onto a small cot. John leaned back against the wall and propped himself up. Sherlock sat at his feet.

"Sherlock."

"Yeah?"

"I promised you I'd never hit you…"

Sherlock trembled, he knew what he had done wrong. He stood up quickly and bowed several times. "I'm sorry, Master. You told me to do as you said and I didn't. I'm sorry, Master John, I am so sorry." Sherlock gripped John's knees with tears flowing from his eyes.

"Sherlock, it can't go unpunished."

"I understand." Sherlock whimpered.

"What did your mother used to do?" John asked tenderly.

"My m-mother?"

"Yes. I'm sure your mother wanted to punch you right in the nose," John touched the tip of Sherlock's nose with his finger causing the small boy to giggle, "but I'm sure she never did."

"She made sit next to a tree until I apologized five times, and then she considered me punished. If I left the tree she'd spank me though." He looked at John skeptically. "I'd rather be caned than spanked by mother." He said crossly.

"Well why don't you go sit in the corner until you've apologized five times and I'll consider you punished." He smiled.

"Yes, Master." Sherlock gave a small bow and scampered into the corner. He turned so his nose was pressed into the wood. He gave a deep breath out. "Sorry, Master John. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry."

John chuckled, the boy was cute. Sherlock looked over his shoulder with a lopsided grin, John's chuckle turned into a loud laugh. Sherlock began laughing as well, his master laugh had infected him. Sherlock scrambled to his feet as John bent over in pain. Mycroft's blow had done more to him than he expected.

"Sherlock." He grumbled. "Stop making me laugh."

"Sorry." The boy's eyes were wide. He looked so innocent and happy that John had to draw him into a hug. The boy gasped as John's warmth engulfed him, he had only been hugged by his mother. He didn't know much about masters, but he didn't think they were supposed to hug their slaves. Sherlock gave a small hiccup and buried his face into John's chest

"You seem more like a father." Sherlock said quietly.

"No, but I am your brother. We share a father." John pressed his chin against Sherlock's curly head. "Zeus."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "My father's not Zeus."

"Why else would Hera want you, child?" John let Sherlock curl into his lap. The soft skin of the child rubbed against John's arms. Sherlock gave a small yawn as John pulled him onto his chest. They both lay back onto the bed together. The small child made John forgot his pain. Sherlock curled into a small ball.

"I don't know. But whenever my father visited he talked about how much he hated Zeus. I don't think Zeus would talk like that about himself."

John almost choked on the air. "Your father visited you?"

"Ah-ha." Sherlock was falling asleep.

"Sherlock." He shook the boy to keep him awake. "Sherlock." The boy yawned. John sighed. "When you wake up you'll eat something. Promise me."

"I promise, Master." Sherlock said sleepily.

oOo

A week later Sherlock was assigned the god he was to serve.

Hephaestus.

He complained to John immediately. "I'm too small! Why would they give the smallest one a job that requires the most muscle?" The boy took John's sleeve in his hand and tugged it sharply. "Can't I stay with you?"

"No, little one. You must learn a trade from a god. It's how we improve our service to Hera."

"But…"

"Sherlock." John said firmly. The boy stopped talking immediately. He assumed what John called, Sherlock's prisoner of war stance. The boy's head dipped down so his chin pressed into his chest, his eyes locked on to his tiny feet, and his hands clasped behind his back.

"Are you taking me there?"

"No. Mycroft will take you up and bring you back here at night. Sherlock I beg you behave. They won't be as easy on you as me. Mycroft may even beat you for fun, just…endure. Please, Sherlock."

Sherlock scowled at his feet. He clearly didn't want anything to do with Mycroft, but John hugged him quickly. Sherlock buried his face in John's leg. "Okay."

"And Hephaestus may beat you as an induction, but after that if you behave he'll leave you alone."

Sherlock gave the smallest sniffle. John knew the boy was scared out of his mind, but he was pleased that the boy kept his tears to himself. John tenderly stroked the hair from Sherlock's eyes. The boy was becoming more and more like a son to him. John almost asked that he called him "father" instead of "master", but that would show weakness. As if hugging the boy every time he saw him wasn't weakness enough. He ruffled his dark hair.

Mycroft knocked twice on the door before entering. John released Sherlock quickly, he bowed low to Mycroft. Sherlock bowed in synch with his master.

"Glad to see his temper is being controlled." Mycroft said snidely.

John grabbed the back of Sherlock's neck and didn't let him come up until the anger left his face. Sherlock took several deeps. John allowed him to rise.

"Behave, Sherlock."

"Yes, Master." Sherlock said shortly.

"You've got a tight leash on this one. I've taught you well."

John grabbed Sherlock's tiny arm to keep him from attacking Mycroft. Sherlock froze as John held onto his arm, Mycroft was producing chains. Sherlock ran behind John's leg. He peeked out, his eyes wide with fear.

"Mycroft." John said tiredly. "Those aren't necessary."

"A precaution. He is new, many of the new children try to escape."

"Because they're scared of you." Sherlock snarled.

Mycroft's face went from controlled to enraged. Sherlock squeaked and buried his face into John's leg. John carefully took the shackles out of Mycroft's hands. He knelt so Sherlock eyes could look into his, he held up the chains so Sherlock could see. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course." The boy said softly.

Extremely carefully John put the chains around each tiny wrist. He didn't tighten them very much, but he made sure they held him. He picked Sherlock up so he could rest his head on John's chest. John glared at Mycroft.

"If you are that worried about him running away I will escort him to Lord Hephaestus as well." John said decidedly.

Mycroft shook his head. "Lord Apollo…"

"Can wait, or punish me later. I will see that Sherlock arrives to his assigned god."

"Master, don't get in trouble for me." Sherlock whispered urgently. John shrugged as much as he could with the boy resting on him. He stepped pass an angry looking Mycroft onto the streets of Olympus. Sherlock laid his head on John's warm shoulder.

"You're going to be okay." John said gently.

"I trust you." Sherlock said loyally.

Mycroft followed them down to the royal forge, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Sherlock was grateful John decided to go with them today. He had notice Mycroft walked with an umbrella he did not need, and rings on his fingers that weren't there before. Mycroft had planned to beat him senseless. Sherlock couldn't control himself any longer, he stuck his tongue at Mycroft and wagged it.

Mycroft's grip tightened on the umbrella handle, but he did not move to hit the child. Sherlock looked taken a back. Mycroft smiled evilly and mouthed, "Later, when Master John isn't around."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as if the thought bored him, but on the inside he screamed. John put him down outside an old metal door. Sherlock touched it curiously, the door had pictures carved deep into it, but the pictures were moving.

Sherlock let out a small shriek of delight as he followed a dragon around the bottom of the door. John smiled as the boy stuck his fingers close to the dragon. It curled around them and let out a puff of smoke. Sherlock grinned at John and even Mycroft, his hatred forgotten with momentary joy. Mycroft was surprised to find himself smiling back, he quickly changed it to a scowl.

He grabbed Sherlock by the back of his neck and thrust him backwards. The boy fell back against his master leg with a hateful glance at Mycroft. Mycroft kept the scowl on his face, but internally he wondered why he had stopped the boy from playing. It hadn't been hurting anyone, it had even been kind of cute. Mycroft face slowly softened, until he noticed the chains at the boy's feet. "John!"

Even John looked surprised. "Sherlock? How did you…?"

"Chains are easy to get out of because they're mechanical. With a certain combination they'll fall right off." The small boy bragged cheerfully. His childish vocabulary caused him to mispronounce "mechanical" and "combination". "My mother taught me that."

Mycroft slapped the umbrella across his backside in three rapid movements that were unseen to the human eye. Sherlock grabbed himself as he fell against the door. He made no sound, but John saw the pain flash across his face. Anger rushed through John's heart.

"Mycroft!" He stepped between Sherlock and the bloody umbrella.

"You seemed to busy being stunned to punish the boy. I thought I'd do it for you."

Sherlock cried silently with his head against the blacksmith's door, blood flowed down his lower back. The tiny dragon flew under his eyes as if trying to stop the tears. Sherlock didn't even sniffle. John had punished Sherlock at least twenty times in the last week and each time Sherlock sobbed or whined like a baby. He made as much noise as he could to let John know he was distressed, but now he made no noise. He couldn't figure the child out.

The door opened slowly, Mycroft and John instantly dropped to their knees, but Sherlock tried to follow the dragon inward. He crashed into a leg as thick as a tree trunk, he fell backwards with a grunt of pain as the ground met his bloody back. He frowned up at the large figure above him. "Sorry. I wanted to play with the dragon." Tears were welling up in his eyes, John cringed, fearing the god would smack Sherlock across Olympus. But he stepped aside and let the child in. Sherlock found his dragon friend once again.

"Lord Hephaestus, forgive him. Please, he is still learning, he is only a baby."

Sherlock snorted at John's apology. "I am not a baby."

"No." Hephaestus mused. "But you are just a tiny lad aren't you?"

"Yes, and you're not so tiny." Sherlock looked the god up and down. He made the small children's gesture for "up" to which Hephaestus obliged. Sherlock put his hands on the god's scruffy cheeks. Hephaestus grinned. "But I like you, even if you smell like dead things."

John was in shock, Mycroft snickered into his knee at the child's impending doom. But Hephaestus threw his head back and laughed. Sherlock mimicked the god's movement and threw his head backwards as well. He let out an evil laugh. Hephaestus stopped. "What was that, boy?"

"My impression of Mycroft. Mwahahahahahaha." He held his fingers out like a scary ghost, and cried "boo" loudly. Hephaestus set the boy down at his feet, Sherlock ran to John and gripped his neck.

"I like Master Hephaestus." He mumbled into the side of his neck. John stayed still, he was scared and surprised to move. Hephaestus chuckled.

"By the end of the work day you will feel differently. Come." He motioned for Sherlock to enter the forge. Sherlock quickly tightened his grip on John's neck and kissed his cheek before he ran to join Hephaestus. John watched him stunned.

"Who is his father, Mycroft?" John asked as the door shut in their faces. He and Mycroft rose together. "Why is it this boy inspires love in so many?"

Mycroft scowled. "His father is Zeus, you know this. And he does not inspire love, the boy is cute. Hephaestus needs cute in his life, that is all."

"Sherlock himself says Zeus is not his father."

"And what would Sherlock know of his father?" Mycroft demanded.

"He used to visit the boy." John said quietly.

Mycroft was hesitating, John could see Mycroft knew. He dropped to his knees in front of Mycroft, he knew how to play his master well. "Master, please. If I am to raise him, and am to be in control of him I must know."

Mycroft rested his palm on John's head almost tenderly. Slowly, unsurely, he told John the name of Sherlock's father. John rocked back on his heels.

"How?"

"I don't know. It makes sense that he would visit his son, seeing as how his exile prevents him from doing much else."

"Why does Hera want the son of…?"

"To protect Zeus. Sherlock can be used as a weapon against his father, he could also be used as a weapon against Zeus."

"And Hera thinks that he will just lie down and accept his son's enslavement?" John said completely outraged. Sherlock couldn't climb a tree, what made them think he could be a weapon?

"He is well hidden. Hephaestus was chosen for him because his forge is kept secluded from the gods, and he loves you well. It has only been a week and the boy can hardly leave your side. Imagine years from now what love it will be. He will accept you as his father over…"

"And if I don't want him to be a weapon?"

Mycroft laughed. "Oh my dear Watson, you are a slave. Who cares what you want?"


	3. As Strong as a God

Sherlock had to pee.

Hephaestus hadn't beaten him, but to make sure Sherlock knew who was in charge he forbid the boy to use the bathroom without permission. The child dragged heavy metals from the bottom of a deposit ditch back up to the forge. The already challenging task was becoming nearly impossible with his small bladder full.

He had put wheels on the bottom of the sled Hephaestus had given him to make the job easier. He sat at the top of the hill with his hands deep in his lap. His legs twitched restlessly. Hephaestus came out of the forge covered in filth and soot. He saw the child doubled over in pain.

"Did you alter your sled?" Hephaestus demanded.

"I couldn't carry the amount of metal you wanted without wheels. I figured I had a better chance of not being punished with all my work completed. May I use the bathroom?"

"No." He said roughly.

"I have to go." The boy growled.

"I need all the metal brought here with in the next hour. Then and only then may you pee."

"I can hardly walk." Sherlock whined.

Hephaestus struck the boy across the back of the head. Sherlock rolled down the hill head over heels, a small stream of urine leaked through the boys pants. He reached the bottom of the hill and landed heavily on a sheet of iron. The rest of his urine was knocked out of him. He felt the disgusting warmth between his thighs and tried not to cry.

From above him Hephaestus called down to him. "Still have to pee? No? Good, get your little ass up here with my metal, little shit."

Sherlock picked up a small piece of metal and flung it at the god. "There's your metal, you old goat!"

Hephaestus caught the metal without a problem. He threw it back at the boy with five times the strength. It caught Sherlock in the left shoulder. He screamed as it passed through skin and muscle. He dropped to his knees with blood coursing down his chest.

"Metal, up here. Then you're dismissed."

Sherlock fell forward onto his face, his fingers around his new wound. His icy blue eyes were glazed over. In his mind he called for his master repeatedly, physically he could do no more than lie completely still. After several deep breaths he rose to his hands and knees.

He had to climb back to the top of the hill to retrieve his sled, but he refused to let the god win. It took him two and a half hours to bring up the rest of the metal. By the time it was completed he had lost too much blood to make it home alone and his pants were completely soiled. He lay on the top of the hill wishing he'd die. He shut his eyes. He just wanted to see his mother again.

Soft hands were picking him up gently. By force of habit he wrapped his arms and legs around the soft body. He was bleeding profoundly onto a bright green shirt. "Mother?" Sherlock was sobbing. His small body was under too much stress for a seven year old to endure. Any normal child would have died. "Mother. Mother." He cried.

"Shush, my love. It is alright, let me see your wound."

Sherlock pointed to the large cut on his shoulder that was still spurting blood. The woman kissed it gently for him. The pain that had brought the small boy to tears vanished. Sherlock blinked his teary eyes.

"What did you…?"

"Mummy's kisses heal everything, right?" The woman's chocolaty eyes sparkled. Sherlock took her in carefully. She had beautiful brown hair that was tied up in a messy bun, she was dressed in an oversized green shirt that still looked perfect on her, and her lips were the darkest red Sherlock had ever seen.

"You're not my mummy, though." Sherlock said curiously.

"No, but I don't like to see poor little children in distress, so I used "mummy magic"."

Sherlock looked at her doubtfully. His eyes were still unfocused, and the poor thing reeked of piss and stool. The goddess only held him tighter, Sherlock noted she smelt like roses. He knew she wouldn't be so kind to him if she had known what he said to Hephaestus. He wiggled for down. The goddess gently set him on his feet only to watch him fall over seconds later.

"Sherlock, you've lost so much blood." She said tenderly as she picked him back up.

"I was bad boy…" He mumbled. "How know m-my name?"

"My husband is the god you serve, and I'm sure you weren't that bad, love."

"I said mean things. Didn't listen to M-master J-john. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry." At the last sorry he fainted against the goddess's thin shoulder. She cradled his head and brought him back into the forge. She laid him gently on the god's table.

"Husband!" She shouted. Even when angry she had unspeakable grace.

Hephaestus rose from the basement with burn marks all along his arms and face. He saw his wife standing over the fainted child. He froze at the top of the staircase.

"Have you chosen another one, my wife?" He said coldly. He glanced at the boy lying on the table. Stupid kid, he hadn't meant to thrown the metal that hard. He had secretly admired the boy for calling him an old goat, most slaves simply kept their mouths shut. Not this boy.

He hadn't even bothered to learn the child's name.

"I haven't decided yet, husband. I brought him in to examine him farther."

Hephaestus scowled at the scar on the boy's shoulder. He pointed at it accusingly, his wife smiled slyly. "Insurance." She said flirtatiously. "He is already strong as a baby, imagine the man he'll grow into. Plus you gave me the opportunity, husband."

"He would be upset to hear you call him that." Hephaestus grumbled. He threw himself into his cozy arm chair. A humanoid machine brought him whine. "I lost Mycroft because of you, Aphrodite. If this boy is to be stronger than him I'd prefer to keep him."

She tut-tuted him. "Then don't eject him from your service, my lord."

Hephaestus scowled. "Show him to me then. This man he'll grow into."

She sat in his lap and crossed her legs. She tickled his chin before snapping her fingers, the boy's body shimmered and from it sprang an adult version of himself. Aphrodite gasped, even Hephaestus looked startled. The boy grew into a man of power, it was clear to see.

The man stood in the smaller version of himself's prisoner of war stance. His jet black hair was still curly at the ends, but was greased back to prevent it from falling in his face. He was still thin, but muscles graced his form. His naked chest was held proudly out before him, even if his head was bowed. She marveled at his legs and arms that were tone from working the forge. He had burn marks, scars, and fresh cuts over his stomach legs, arms, and back. She slid off her husband's lap and did a small dance around him.

"He's glorious." She breathed.

"He's strong." Hephaestus said shortly. "Look at his aura, he is as strong as a god."

"Stronger. Ask him a question, lord. Ask him anything." She touched the older Sherlock's chest, but her fingers went through the vision.

"How old are you, boy?" Hephaestus asked the vision.

"The version of this Sherlock is thirty-two." It said. Aphrodite made a small mew at his deep voice.

"Are you still loyal to the gods?"

"Yes."

"Which ones are you most loyal to?" Aphrodite asked softly.

"Hera because I must, Hephaestus because he was my childhood friend."

Hephaestus rose from his chair and examined the man more closely. He observed the long white scar over his shoulder. He looked at the man's hands, which were rough and course from working the forge. "Raise your head boy."

The vision obeyed him. Both gods nearly fell over themselves at the sight of his eyes. They were the same icy blue as his child form, but gold was mixed in them. A long scar came from his left temple to the side of his chin. Aphrodite looked at the sleeping child greedily. "Have you known a woman at this age?"

"Yes." The older version of Sherlock spoke as if in a trance. She giggled.

"Wife." Hephaestus said angrily. "Who is your godly parent?"

"The version of this Sherlock does not know." The vision said.

"Why not?"

"My master did not think it was necessary for me to know."

"Mycroft?" Aphrodite asked surprised.

"John Watson."

"Tell me true, boy, are you more loyal to me or John Watson?"

"John Watson." He said in monotone.

"Hera or your master?"

"John Watson."

The child on the table began to whimper, Hephaestus turned to a water bottle on his desk and brought it to the child's lips. He nodded at Aphrodite to dismiss the vision. She looked at him one long, last time before waving him away. The child was accepting the water bottle in his sleep. Hephaestus cradled his head.

"Childhood friend, eh?"

The child's eyes fluttered opened. He looked frightened to see the large god before him. Immediately he apologized. He pushed the water bottle away from himself claiming he was too bad to drink. Hephaestus didn't know what to make of the boy.

"I'm sorry I was mean." He said looking into the god's eyes. "I was angry. Sometimes I get so angry I can't control what I say." He wrapped his head in his own arms.

"Boy." Hephaestus handed him the water bottle. "We both lost our tempers. Take this and go home."

Sherlock looked down at the water bottle and saw to eyes staring back at him. "Iggy!" He shrieked as his dragon looked back at him from the bottle. Hephaestus smiled as the boy bowed very low to him. "Thank you, lord."

Hephaestus smiled at the happy boy. "Old goat is fine." He ruffled to boy's hair. Sherlock looked at him suspiciously, Hephaestus didn't like the way Sherlock's eyes rushed to look him over. He put a large hand on the child's head which earned him an annoyed "oof".

Sherlock climbed off the table sipping from his new water bottle. His blood lose had made him even more pale, and Aphrodite bit her lip at the thought of waiting twenty-five years for her new pet to grow. She stroked the side of his cheek tenderly.

She could see her husband's plan almost immediately after the older vision of the boy appeared. Make Sherlock love him. A boy, a man that strong would be a valued ally and a terrible enemy. Aphrodite kissed the child's soft curls, remembering one day they would be greased back. Sherlock looked at her with childish blue eyes, she smiled. There was no gold in those eyes yet.

"You are dismissed, little shit. Go home to your master." Hephaestus said gruffly, watching his wife and servant bond. Sherlock glanced towards the door.

"Mycroft was supposed to take me home." He said softly. As much as he hated Mycroft he didn't know the way back yet. Sherlock seemed slightly frantic, he had lost too much blood and was probably dehydrated.

"Drink your water, my love. I will summon Mycroft." Aphrodite picked the boy up and set him back on the table. He obediently drank the rest of the water. She flashed him a perfect smile, perhaps she'd become his favorite goddess. She snapped her fingers for Mycroft.

He appeared at her feet in a shimmer of gold, his head bent low between his knees. "Lady." He said softly.

Mycroft had been no different than Sherlock, both had come to her husband's forge at a young age and both had been protected by her "mommy magic". It hadn't taken Mycroft long into his adult years to fall under her spell, she doubted it would take Sherlock long before he was on her leash.

"Sherlock has been dismissed, Mycroft. It is time for him to go home, I'd like you to carry him, please. He has suffered blood lose and dehydration. Make sure his master takes immediate care of him."

Sherlock looked shocked at the sight of Mycroft groveling, he hopped off his table carefully and prodded Mycroft's leg with his foot. "He doesn't have to carry me. I can walk, we don't like each other very much, so it wouldn't be fair to make him…" Sherlock fell backwards on his butt. The room had suddenly began spinning. Mycroft scoped the boy up and tilted the water bottle into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock gasped as he realized it would magically refill itself. Obediently he drank until Mycroft took it away. He would have normally fought against Mycroft, but he didn't want to upset the lady. He even wrapped his arms around Mycroft's neck.

Mycroft bowed to both gods with the child in his arms. He walked backwards into the streets of Olympus where the sun was setting. Sherlock yawned.

"Tired?" Mycroft asked grudgingly.

"No." Sherlock said as his body betrayed him with another yawn. Mycroft slowly touched the scar on Sherlock's shoulder. He frowned heavily.

"Mummy magic?" He asked.

"Yup."

Mycroft squeezed the child softly. In twenty or so years, he'd come to regret that magic. Sherlock did not welcome Mycroft's touch as he did John's, but he was sore and tired. The last thing he wanted was to earn another beating. He tried to hold himself perfectly still in the big man's arms.

"You must really love her." Sherlock said as the long walk continued.

"No, I…"

"You're heart's racing, you haven't said hardly anything since we left, and you were nice to me. Gotta be love." Sherlock laid his head on Mycroft's shoulder. "Love, love, love."

"You're delusional."

Mycroft made Sherlock drink more water as they approached John's hut. Sherlock obediently drank as much as Mycroft told him to. It was then Mycroft realized how sick the boy was. He didn't bother to knock on the wooden door.

Quickly as he could he shouldered his way into the house. John was laying on his back trying to read a medical book for Apollo, who had conveniently forgotten John couldn't read. Mycroft passed the babbling child to his master. The minute John's hands touched the sick child green light began engulfing Sherlock. Slowly Sherlock's eyes began to focus.

"Master?" Sherlock had no clue where he was. "When did I get back?"

"Mycroft brought you home, Sherlock." John put the child onto his bed. Sherlock clung to his water bottle like a teddy bear.

"Will you tell him thank you?" Sherlock asked as John pulled a blanket over him.

"I'll tell him, Sherlock. You rest now."

"Okay."

John examined the white scar on Sherlock's shoulder. He turned Mycroft. "That wasn't there before." He said between clenched teeth.

"Hephaestus hurt him, Aphrodite healed him."

John sat next to the boy and stroked the hair from his face. He looked so peaceful, John wanted to pull him into his arms, but he didn't dare in front of Mycroft. Sherlock sensed him in his sleep and reached out for his arm. He curled his little body around his master's forearm. John smiled.

"He will get nowhere in life if you continue to baby him."

John sighed. "Master, he is a baby. He doesn't think so himself, but look at him." Sherlock chose that moment to snuggle into John arm. Mycroft heart softened.

"He is a grown child." Mycroft said without conviction.

"He's just a baby." John detached himself from the small child and put him carefully in Mycroft's arms. Sherlock responded as he did when John pulled him into his lap. He took fist-fulls of Mycroft's shirt and cuddled his head in his chest. Mycroft's face completely softened. "Are they all this small, John?"

"I was smaller." John said quietly.

"Why didn't I ever notice?" He marveled at the small boy in his lap.

"You've never held a child, have you?"

"I was never allowed."

Sherlock yawned loudly. His tiny fist clung tighter to Mycroft.

"Mycroft, you could always hold a child if you wanted to. I'd let you hold Sher…"

"No. No, Hera would never allow it. She didn't want any developing relationships. You were the closest slave I ever raised, and I used to beat you senseless."

"I never blamed you, Master." He watched Sherlock closely as if scared the child would blow away. Mycroft scowled at the boy, but gently took him out of his lap and passed him back to John. Sherlock recognized his master's scent and curled up into his lap happily.

"He's going to be a strong man." Mycroft said crossly, as he went to the door.

"I don't care what he will be. I just want him to be a happy baby for now."


	4. Sail Boats

Sherlock was going through his imagination stage.

He insisted John teach him how to build small sail boats, so he could be king of the tiny pirates that lived aboard. As a child, John had his imagination beaten out of him, but together he and the small boy learned how to make boats made of paper that sailed. John couldn't believe the joy that the tiny boats brought the boy so much joy. It was all he could do to get him out of the tub.

"Five more minutes!" Sherlock demanded as he sank a sail boat for being "bad". John pulled him out by the scruff his neck and shoved him towards his room. "Supper, teeth, bed." He said decisively.

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest. His eyes were stating to water dramatically.

"Now, Sherlock." John cut him off.

Sherlock dried his hair, grumbling the whole time. He pulled on old pants that were too big for him, an old shirt of John's, and left the shoes sitting in the corner. He hated shoes, no matter what size they were they always managed to pinch his feet. He pushed his chair up to the table and sat down with his face rested in his hands. He wanted to play with his sail boats.

John put a plate of meat and potatoes in front of him. Sherlock sighed loudly.

John ignored him.

He sighed again.

"Sherlock, eat your food." John said amused.

He picked at it with a disgusted expression. He shoved his potatoes into the beef gravy and brought it to his mouth. He clamped his jaw over it.

"If I eat it all, can I play with my sail boats more?"

John was beginning to learn that punishments weren't very effective on Sherlock. If he told the boy no to playing he would simply pout and eat nothing for the rest of the evening. No matter how long he sat in the corner. If John allowed him some time with his boats he may eat everything.

"Two minutes. No more, no less, and only if you eat all your food."

John was worried Sherlock would choke, he ate so fast. He had to tell him several times to slow down, but the boy was on a mission. He almost swallowed his fork as the last bits of food entered his mouth. He jumped down from his seat. "Done!"

"Sherlock, slow down!" Sherlock had his shirt off and over his head in a matter of seconds. The bathroom door slammed shut, John rolled his eyes.

He went to the sink and filled it with soapy water, he left a half empty glass of milk on the table. Slaves had been granted Sundays off, John decided Sherlock could stay up later since he didn't have to spend the next day at the forge. He laughed as heard Sherlock making cannon noises. There was a loud splashing noise, John didn't have the energy to see the mess Sherlock had probably just made. He began drying dishes.

There was four short knocks on the door, and Mycroft entered. John gave him a small nod over his shoulder. Mycroft greeted him in a similar fashion. He pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. Sherlock's splashing was growing louder.

"Where is the boy?" Mycroft asked curtly.

"He's in the tub, playing sail boats." John chuckled.

"What are you teaching the boy by letting him play? The child can't possibly learn respect for you if you don't install obedience in him."

"Master, he has tomorrow off. Let him play." John dried the last of the dishes. He dried his hands on the old rag and sat next to Mycroft. Mycroft's brow scrunched together menacingly.

"Show me." He growled.

"Show you what, Mycroft?" John was tired, Sherlock had been having nightmares, and it kept him up most nights. The child would wake up screaming for John to save him, Sherlock wouldn't let him go back to his own bed. John had to stay with him, or Sherlock would panic.

"Show me he obeys you. I don't believe for one second that you are raising him correctly."

John sighed heavily. "Sherlock, come out here please." He called through the wooden door. He expected Sherlock to ask for more time. He was surprised to see the door open with Sherlock standing there wrapped in a towel. His tiny sail boats were still floating the water. "Drain the tub, put your sail boats away, and go to bed, please."

Sherlock stood soaking wet in the middle of the doorway, his eyes darted from John to Mycroft. "Am I in trouble?" He asked shyly.

"No, child. It's just been well over two minutes." John said gently. Sherlock nodded slowly, he dashed back into the bathroom to get his sail boats. He brought the precious toys out into the kitchen and placed them into John's hands. He leaned forward so John could dry his hair for him. Sherlock didn't need him to, but he enjoyed the way John wrapped his in the towel and jokingly pulled the towel tighter around his face.

He quickly drained the tub, as John placed his toys on the counter. Sherlock ran back into the kitchen with his oversized pajamas on. He gave John a quick hug and darted a kiss at his cheek. He ran to his cot. His little hands pulled the shabby blanket over his shoulders. He rested his dark head on his pillows and closed his eyes.

"Unbelievable." Mycroft muttered. "You've had him for six months, and he is that obedient."

John chuckled. "No, no. I think he heard you. He's a clever lad, he knows when he has to behave and when he can push his luck. If you hadn't been here I doubt he would have come out of the tub that easily."

From the cot Sherlock giggled. He loved how well his master knew him, it made him feel safe. John raised an eyebrow. "Sherlock."

Sherlock lifted his head off his pillows and threw his blankets on the floor. He ran to John and placed his hands on his knee. John lifted the boy into his lap and let Sherlock drink the rest of his milk. Sherlock swallowed it greedily. Mycroft snorted.

"You're making him weak." Mycroft pointed out.

Sherlock scowled at the older man, but John silenced him by flicking him on the back head. Sherlock giggled at John, but shut his mouth. Mycroft pushed away from the table.

"Believe it or not I did have a purpose for this visit. Sherlock, come here."

Sherlock turned his ice blue eyes towards John, he was nervous. John took him off his lap and gently prodded the boy. Sherlock took several steps towards Mycroft. John struggled to force himself push Sherlock towards his master. He didn't know why Mycroft had come by. Sherlock stood inches away from Mycroft. Mycroft drew a sword from his belt, John thrust Sherlock behind him so swiftly neither Mycroft or the child could react fast enough. John was nose to nose with Mycroft.

"Mycroft, if you try to hurt this boy I swear to you…"

Mycroft tilted the sword so the hilt pointed towards Sherlock. The boy peeked behind John's leg curiously. Mycroft nodded at the boy. "A gift. You will have to learn how to use it." Sherlock slowly accepted the hilt of the sword, but the weight was too great for his tiny arms, and he fell forward. John stared at Mycroft in surprise.

"Get out of my face, Jonathan." He sneered. "If you don't mind."

"Sherlock give me that." John said without taking his eyes of Mycroft.

Sherlock tried to lift the sword that was the same size as him. He managed to get it a few inches off the ground before passing it to John. Sherlock let go of it reluctantly.

John shifted the blade carefully around in his hand, it was well balanced and deadly. John rested the blade on his own shoulder. "I told you I didn't want the boy to have a sword."

"You said you didn't want him to become a weapon, you said nothing about him having a weapon." Mycroft said easily. He plucked the sword from John's hand and passed it back to Sherlock. He accepted it happily.

"Show me now that he obeys you and not the rewards you give him." Mycroft smiled coldly. "Sherlock, if you want to keep the sword put it next to your bed." He stared into John's eyes.

"Sherlock, give me the sword." Josh said gently.

Sherlock hesitated. His hands gripped the hilt tighter.

"Sherlock, if you give him that sword I promise you, you'll never use it."

"Sherlock, give it to me. Please."

Sherlock pouted at his master, but slowly he passed him the sword. His lower lip trembled as John gently took it from him. He was fighting tears, but he didn't want to upset the man who had spent hours making him tiny sail boats and who had stayed up with him late into the night when he couldn't sleep.

The small child turned slowly away from both adults and threw himself onto his bed with a huff of sadness. He pulled his blankets over his head, he squeezed his little eyes tightly shut. John handed Mycroft the sword back with a look of annoyance. He walked over to Sherlock and pulled the blanket away from his head. The child was crying.

"Sherlock…"

"I'm alright." He hiccupped.

John rubbed his back gently, slowly the boy began to stop crying. John pulled him into his lap and wiped his tears away. Sherlock mumbled something about how beautiful the sword was. Mycroft let a loud laugh.

"My gods, he does love you." He took several steps towards the boy and master, he placed the sword at the end of the bed. "John, my orders came from Hera herself, no amount of your hateful glares can stop the boy from learning how to wield a sword."

"I'm not going to use it if Master John doesn't want me to." Sherlock cried into John's chest. He really did want the sword though.

"Then don't, but you start your lessons tomorrow, and if you don't raise your sword in defense I think you'll find I'll have no problem attacking you. Good day, John."

Sherlock grabbed John's shirt and rubbed his face in it. John held the confused child until his breathing became deep and loud. Sherlock had fallen asleep in his arms, John kissed his head softly.

Sherlock's future was beginning to form whether John liked it or not. The little boy had grown in the six months John had raised him. He hated looking down at the boy who was beginning to grow pass his waist. He wanted the boy to stay young forever, Sherlock had come to him as a peanut in every sense of the word. He was small in size, in height, he was all elbows and limbs. John couldn't imagine the kind of man he would be because he was too distracted by the baby in his arms.

He sighed heavily as he placed Sherlock on his chest and leaned back against the wall. Sherlock loved it when he woke up in John's arms, but as John observed the growth of the boy he couldn't help but wonder how many times the boy had left.


	5. Nap time

Sherlock followed him around like a lost puppy.

He shadowed him as closely as he could without disturbing him. John went in and out of their house grabbing different objects, but also relishing Sherlock's tiny feet pattering on the ground. He stopped walking just to feel the child bump into his legs. He chuckled warmly.

John was folding clean laundry into an old basket from their clothes line. Sherlock, who was now a big boy of eight, was playing peacefully at his master's feet. He had an old rag that he made dance around like a small gladiator in battle. John laughed and dropped a sheet over his head. Sherlock giggled.

He wiggled around in the sheet until his dark head found the exit. He squirmed out from underneath it and tightly hugged John's leg. John's hand ran through Sherlock's soft hair, Sherlock nestled into his leg. Mycroft loudly cleared his throat behind them.

"Hera wanted me to check in on your progress with Hephaestus, Sherlock." Mycroft said sourly.

"Fine." Sherlock leaned heavily into John, not wanting to peel himself away from his master's comfort. John continued to play with his soft baby hair, Sherlock tilted his head in different directions to lead John to his favorite spots. Mycroft was half tempted to pull the small boy away from John, but he simply rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock, you haven't been completing your quota for shield out puts." Mycroft's voice was cold.

"Well then get someone bigger." Sherlock said snidely. He was too small to produce fifty shields a day, he was usually lucky to get ten. He enjoyed Hephaestus, but he wished Athena would have been his goddess.

John pulled his head away from his leg by his hair. He gave his small boy a stern look, but inwardly agreed with him. It wasn't Sherlock's fault he was still little. Sherlock's lower lip trembled, which caused John's heart to melt. He let Sherlock put his tiny head back against his leg.

"John." Mycroft said firmly. "Any responsible master would have that smartness beaten out of him."

Sherlock whimpered.

"Physical punishments have no effect on him, Master. It won't make a lasting lesson on him." John twisted to fold finish pulling clothes off the line. Sherlock stayed attached to his leg, which hindered his work. John didn't complain.

"Well what does?" Mycroft demanded.

"Sherlock, apologize." John said paternally.

"I didn't do anything." Sherlock whined. He buried his face in John's leg. "No. No. No. No. I won't."

"Sherlock, five times. You don't have to sit in the corner if you do it now. That was rude, and you are above rude." John braced for the impending argument, but Sherlock sighed.

"Sorry, sir. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry." He refused to look at the older man at all. John reached down to him and gently stroked the back of his neck soothingly. Sherlock's tiny body relaxed. John turned back to his work.

Mycroft scowled. "That clearly did nothing. You should leave him in my care, John. At least for a year, it's not a punishment if no tears are shed."

John said nothing, he peeled the child's face off his leg and showed Mycroft. Tears were pouring down Sherlock's cheeks. The child tried to hide his face back against John's leg, but John held him firmly until Mycroft was satisfied. John lifted Sherlock into the air and let him wrap his arms and legs around his body. He was getting so big.

"You punish him and then you praise him." Mycroft sighed disappointed. "Give him to me for a day, John. He'll never smart off again."

"No, Master. I can deal with Sherlock just fine thank you." Sherlock laid his head into the nape of John's neck and closed his eyes. He hadn't had his nap that day, and he was starting to get grumpy. He mumbled soft curses at Mycroft's expense into John's toga. "I need to put him down, he's quite the little grouch when he's sleepy."

"Am not." Sherlock said angrily. "I'm not sleepy." He yawned widely.

"Are to." John pressed his head to Sherlock's forehead. "How about I put you on your bed, and you can stay awake, but you must stay on your bed."

Sherlock nodded agreeably at the request. "I can play?"

"If you stay on your bed." John raised an eyebrow at Mycroft. "Can you grab the basket for me, Mycroft?" He prodded it with his foot.

Mycroft shook his head. "Carry your own basket Jonathan. I don't want to be bothered with…work."

John shrugged. "Take Sherlock then." He passed the half sleeping child to Mycroft carefully. Mycroft, caught completely off guard, accepted him. Sherlock didn't squirm, he didn't wiggle, he lay perfectly still against Mycroft's chest. John smiled at the pair.

Mycroft followed the younger man into the small house. He walked quickly across the floor and gently tossed the child onto his bed. Sherlock knew better than to complain about his manhandling and pulled the blankets over his shoulder. He let out a soft yawn. Mycroft observed him closely.

"How did you …?"

"He was so tired, I knew the minute he got into bed he'd be sleeping. Hephaestus works the poor thing to exhaustion." John began putting the clothes into a small drawer.

"He is a slave, of course he works harder than most." Mycroft rolled his eyes at the younger man's stupidity.

"Just because he was born strong doesn't give anyone the right to work a child to the bone. Sherlock never asked for this, and I would have never given it to him." John said hotly.

"He was caught because he tried to protect you." Mycroft said bluntly.

John paused. His hands absent mindedly tightened on one of Sherlock's shirts. "I know." His voice was bitter.

"Do you really care for him this much, John? Or do you pity him?"

"Mycroft, if this boy was my son I couldn't love him any more than I do now." John said truthfully. "Every night he goes to sleep under my roof, he eats my food, he wears clothes I have to clean and sew for him, he steadies himself with my hands, this boy is mine in all but name."

"You can't afford to think like that. Push it out of your mind, or be prepared to have it used against you." Mycroft was trying to protect John, but he could see defiance in his sky blue eyes.

"He is mine. I would give anything to have truly fathered this boy."

John could feel Sherlock's alertness from the bed. His little head was turned inward to better hear what the adults were saying. John motioned for Mycroft to stand. "And he just heard me." Sherlock's eyes fluttered open. He was looking at John with his icy blue eyes that were full of love.

"Sherlock, I thought you were sleeping." John said shortly.

"I heard my name." Sherlock said softly. He reached his hands out to John, who scoped him up closely. John kissed the top of his head gently.

"You need to sleep."

Sherlock cuddled deeper in to his arms. "I'm sorry, Master. Would it be alright if I slept with you?"

"Again Sherlock?" He looked at Mycroft warningly. He wasn't about to let Sherlock be made fun of. "You're getting a bit old for this." It broke his heart to say it, but he was getting older. Sherlock responded by pulling his blankets into John's lap and curling into a tight ball. Mycroft snorted.

John stroked his hair affectionately. Mycroft growled in an annoyed fashion. "You let him sleep in your bed? John, this has to stop. Hera wants a warrior, not a proper princess."

John snarled at the insult to his boy. "His nightmares are terrible, some nights he will cry for hours regardless if his in my bed or not."

"What does he dream of?" Mycroft said lazily.

"His mother." John replayed stoutly. Sherlock would often wake up shouting bloody murder for John, he was only soothed when he was pressed closely against his master's chest. John wished he could take Sherlock's nightmares and replace them with wonderful dreams, but all he could was pray that the child would be calmed swiftly.

Mycroft said nothing, but John noticed he looked away from the sleeping child. Sherlock's thumb was getting dangerously close to his mouth, and John immediately took it away. That he was too old for. Sherlock whimpered.

"Did you end her life, Mycroft?" John demanded.

"It is none of your concern…"

"It is every bit my concern if it plagues my child every night."

"He's not your child, Jonathan."

"So you keep saying." John rubbed Sherlock's belly softly, the child began to snore softly. "Please?"

"No."

"Mas…"

Mycroft raised his hand menacingly towards John.

"He's gotten so big." John muttered, twisting his head away from Mycroft.

"He's getting stronger in the ring. He can best most of my teenagers." Mycroft almost sounded proud.

John bit his lip. "That's…good."

"He's born to be a warrior, John. He has to face his father one day." Mycroft said not unkindly. "Hera had big plans for him."

"I wish they'd just let him be a child." John muttered.

"A demigod child will never have the privilege of a normal child."

"Especially the son of…"

"Yes. Especially his son."


	6. Sword play

**(Nine years later, Sherlock is seventeen)**

"You're getting old, Mycroft."

Sherlock ducked under the deadly arch of metal easily. The blade fell into the dust as Sherlock brought his own down on Mycroft's wrists. Mycroft gripped his wrist in pain. He growled at the young man. Sherlock twirled his own sword in his hand with a cocky grin.

"Sorry, who's the best?" He taunted.

Mycroft sneered as his cut wrist. "Still me, boy."

A large gust of wind blew through the air, picking up the fallen swords and slashing it through Sherlock's upper arm. Blood spurted from his bicep, Sherlock staggered backwards with his hand held firmly against his new wound. He was snarling.

"You said no powers!" He whined.

"When outmatched, cheat." Mycroft took several steps forward and held Sherlock's bleeding arm in a vice grip. He turned it over so he could examine it farther. Sherlock didn't even wince.

"So you admit I outmatch you." He said smartly.

"I admit I wouldn't let my guard down around you, boy, but you're still too slow, and your feet drag when you move. Ares would topple you in a second."

"Clearly." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "He's a god."

Mycroft's grip tightened hard enough to cause Sherlock to at least wince. His green eyes bore into Sherlock's blue, his lips were curling back. Sherlock had mastered the intimidating stare, but he was not better than the man who taught him. Mycroft glared at him until he dropped his gaze. "And you are a warrior of Hera. You're supposed to learn to be better."

Sherlock scowled. It was pointless to argue with Mycroft without earning himself a beating, especially when his eyes were dangerous. Sherlock tugged his arm free of Mycroft's grip. "You aren't better than Ares, what makes you think I could be?"

Mycroft never had a problem disciplining slaves before, in fact at times he found it enjoyable. But whenever he raised a hand to Sherlock he remembered the little boy curled into his lap, and the first child he had ever properly held. Mycroft had gone soft for him. He scowled.

"I could if I had to. You'd be surprised how well I fight when I feel threatened." There. He couldn't hurt the boy physically, but he could hurt his pride. Sherlock's face fell.

"How am I not a threat?"

Mycroft shrugged, not gracing him with an answer. He glanced at the sun that was beginning to fall over Olympus, John would be worried if Sherlock didn't return home soon.

Good.

"Again." Mycroft said snidely. Mycroft pressed him well into the night, Sherlock could hardly move by the time Mycroft considered them half way done. Sherlock lay on the ground with his chest heaving, his vision was beginning to blur, sweat dripped into his eyes. Sherlock grabbed his old water bottle and drank heavily.

"Are we done?" He asked without breath.

"No." Mycroft was sweating just as hard as Sherlock, but he hid it better than the boy. He wiped his brow off with a towel, as Sherlock huffed behind him.

"I need to go home." He said shortly.

"You are dismissed when I tell you. I can keep you here as long as I like." Mycroft picked up his sword once more. "Back in the ring, Sherlock."

"Mycroft…" Sherlock started to complain.

"Sherlock Holmes, in the ring. Now." He said venomously.

Sherlock flinched at his full name, he hadn't wanted anyone to know his last name. Especially Mycroft. John had weedeled it out of him like most things. Sherlock couldn't hide anything from John even if he wanted to.

Mycroft rested the sword under his chin with an evil grin. "Ready."

Sherlock parried it away. "Always."

Mycroft pressed him until Sherlock's legs gave out underneath him. He was strong for a scrawny seventeen year old, but twelve hours of fighting was starting to get the best of him. Mycroft kicked him in the chest. Sherlock sprawled backwards onto the ground.

"No more." He wheezed.

"Get up." Mycroft said viciously.

"I said no more." Sherlock said through clenched teeth.

"You don't want to do more? Get your ass up here and stop me." Mycroft made a slash downward that Sherlock barely managed to evade. He threw his sword down, too weak for offense. He knew better to attack when tired, it only brought mistakes. It was better to stay on the end of Mycroft's techniques and wait for the older man to give up. Mycroft lunged, Sherlock sidestepped.

It continued for another hour, Sherlock had conserved enough energy to pick his sword back up and begin pressing Mycroft. The older man's movements were becoming slow. Sherlock kicked him in the knee, Mycroft rolled forward and head-butted him in the groin. Sherlock dropped his sword and grabbed himself. "Ow! Ow! OW! Shit!" He rolled on the ground in pain.

"Don't be a woman." Mycroft snarled.

"I can't feel anything below my waist!"

"Get up!" Mycroft barked.

Behind them a man cleared his voice. John stood behind them with his arms crossed, Mycroft stuck his sword in the ground and rested on it. He lifted a curious eyebrow.

"John."

"Master." John noticed the boy on the ground clinging desperately to himself. Sherlock was blushing, he attempted to roll on to his stomach and hid his face. John had learned that rushing to Sherlock's side would only embarrass the boy farther. He trained his focus on Mycroft.

"I wanted him home over four hours ago, Mycroft." Sherlock recognized the rare anger in John's voice, he had only seen his master full blown angry once when he had ran away from him. John, true to his word, never raised a hand to him, but Sherlock wished he had. John avoided him for days, he refused to speak to Sherlock, or even look at him. Sherlock had gotten on his knees and begged for forgiveness before John would even speak to him.

And it had only been to tell him to go to sleep.

"When the boy is in the arena he is mine. We agreed to this." Mycroft said with a bored tone. Sherlock had managed to rise to his knees, but his groin was still on fire. Mycroft sneered. "You can stay down there until you're ready to fight. Don't get up unless you're going to fight."

Sherlock snarled back, he was going to rise, but a small hand gesture from his master stilled him. Mycroft marveled at level of control John had over the boy. Sherlock was clearly on his chain, and the boy didn't even realize it.

"How about this, Master? I fight you and if I win Sherlock comes home. If not, he's all yours." John said coolly.

"Master, no." Sherlock said between gritted teeth. Sherlock loved John, but he was clearly not a fighter. John wasn't a young man anymore, and he had raised a child. His energy was long gone. Mycroft would take any opportunity to hurt John, Sherlock managed to pull himself up.

"Is it a deal, Master?" John had a taunting look on his face. Sherlock was surprised to see it was Mycroft who was nervous.

"If you think you can handle, John." He said coldly.

"I think I'll manage." He reached his hand towards Sherlock. The boy shook his head fiercely. John smiled at him. "Hey, relax. I know what I'm doing."

Slowly Sherlock passed him the sword. John took it and with a small twirl started towards Mycroft. The older man blocked the swift slash, but barely. John withdrew the sword from the block and quickly made a swift cut at his legs. Mycroft jumped back with his face already frustrated. John leapt over his shoulders easily and cut Mycroft's back easily. Blood spurted from it aggressively. Mycroft hissed.

"Still keep in shape I see." His jaw was clenched.

John pointed the tip of the sword at Mycroft. "You, forget Mycroft, I was a solider. I killed people."

"You were a doctor." Sherlock said in amazement.

John shrugged. "I had bad days."

"Your master," Mycroft flinched at the pain in his back, "used to be a slave of Ares."

"Yield, Mycroft." John said levelly.

Mycroft held his hands in the air. "Take him."

John nodded happily and bowed low to Mycroft. He walked to an amazed Sherlock and motioned for him to follow. Sherlock obeyed him quickly. He stayed on John's heels until they reached their small home. Sherlock began pestering him.

"Why didn't you ever tell me you could fight?"

"There was no need for me to tell you, Sherlock." John put a plate of chicken in front of Sherlock, which was of course ignored.

"You could have shared anyway." He said glumly.

John sighed heavily, his eyes had small bags under them, but he still managed to smile at the boy. "If you eat, I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

"Anything?" The boy asked happily.

"Within reason." He chuckled.

Sherlock began swallowing hearty bites of chicken. "How old were you when you trained with Ares?"

"I was four."

"What was he like?"

"Always angry."

"Did he like you?"

"He didn't hate me.

"Did you ever beat him up?"

"Once."

"What happened after?" Sherlock's eyes were wide with amazement.

"They switched me to the god Apollo because I was too strong."

Sherlock froze with a bite of chicken inches from his mouth. "Did they beat you? For being better, I mean."

"Sherlock, that's not something you need to know." He said gently.

"Because they did." He said softly.

John hesitated. "Yes, Sherlock. Because they did."

Sherlock put his chicken down. John noted he looked close to tears, Sherlock wiped his eyes quickly. His own throat closed with emotion.

"Why, Master? I don't understand. Why do they give orders and beat us for following them?" Sherlock was rarely ever beaten. Hephaestus would on occasion, but was usually just grumpy towards him, Mycroft beat him only in arena which was to be expected, and John had never beaten him in his life. He was curious, he was angry that there was something he didn't know or couldn't figure out.

John ruffled his hair affectionately. Sherlock pulled away, his eyes were blazing. John frowned as he noticed traces of gold in his eyes. John finally shrugged tiredly. "Because they can Sherlock. Because they're gods and we're not." John cleared his plate from the table and went to the sink. Sherlock followed.

"Who is my father?"

The plate slipped from John's grasp and shattered in the sink. "Sherlock, that question isn't within reason." His voice was dangerously close angry.

"It's just a question, John." Sherlock said defensively.

"Yes and the last time you asked it you ran away from because I wouldn't answer you and nearly got us both killed." Now his voice was angry. If a slave ran away both him and the master would be viscously whipped. Sherlock hadn't realized that if he smarted off during the punishment John was the one who was punished, until it was too late.

John would have told Sherlock flat out who his father was, but Hera had informed him that if Sherlock found out it would make him expendable. John was trying to protect Sherlock from his own wit. Trying to.

"Master I have a right to know." Sherlock said firmly.

"Not this time, Sherlock. Not this. Please just let it die."

"You sound like Mycroft. Is that all I am to you, John? A slave who doesn't need to know?" Sherlock was pushing his luck and he knew it. If John had been a normal master Sherlock surely would have been beaten beyond recognition.

"Corner. Ten times. Now." John hissed. His voice was low and deadly.

"I am not a child anymore, you can't punish me like one. And I won't apologize for wanting to know who my father is." Sherlock shouted.

"You want me to punish you like an adult slave?" John roared, his temper was blown. He grabbed Sherlock by the scruff of the neck and forced him to lie on the table. He held him so his face was plastered against the hard wood. "Sherlock don't test me with this. Not with this. If you think that all you are to me is another slave then run away again. I won't report you gone until morning and you can be far away from here." He released the boy, but not before giving him a good shake.

Sherlock laid still on the table, his heart was racing. He couldn't believe John had still refused to beat him. Sherlock didn't care who his father was, Mycroft had told him eventually John would give up on him and lose his patience. A day would come when John simply would smack him senseless and leave. Sherlock had been desperate to prove him wrong, and he had.

"If I ran away they'd torture you to death." Sherlock said softly.

"At least then you'd know what you meant to me, boy." John was cross with him, but he still loved his boy.

Sherlock rolled off the table and walked across the floor. He knelt in the corner with his hands on his knees. "I am sorry Master." He said it ten more times before rising and flinging himself on the bed. John gapped at him.

If Sherlock had still been ten, eleven, maybe even twelve John would have pulled him into a hug. That boy, that stupid boy was his whole world. John was his father, John would do anything if he could show Sherlock that he thought of him as a son.

He knelt in the corner, Sherlock looked over his shoulder. "I am sorry Sherlock. I am sorry I can't tell you about your father because it's not something I'm allowed to. I would Sherlock. I promise you I would, just trust me when I say it's not something you need to know right now."

Sherlock flung himself at his master. He wrapped his arms around John's neck. John stroked the back of his neck in a soothing fashion as he used to do for Sherlock when he was younger. "Master I don't care who my father is." He went on to explain his conversation with Mycroft.

"I promised you I would never hit you Sherlock. I gave you my word." John said tenderly.

"Thank you, John." Sherlock whispered.

oOo

"How is your little prodigy, Mycroft?"

Mycroft flinched at Hera's words. "He is not my prodigy."

"Oh, Mycroft it was only a jest." Hera said with a small annoyed tone.

"Sorry, my lady." Mycroft knelt at her feet. "He is still a child. He has not been properly raised to be obedient, and the boy is arrogant." Mycroft said bitterly. He regretted leaving Sherlock in John's care.

"Well he is your brother." Hera said indifferently. "It's been a while since we've had a child of your talents Mycroft, I hope you are not jealous of the boy."

"No, my lady. I wish my younger brother would have been put in my care over Jonathan's. I feel like I would be a better master to an insolent child."

"And how is he towards his master?" Hera asked innocently.

Mycroft frown deepened. "He loves him. There is nothing the boy wouldn't do for John. And John is like a father to him."

"After his run away incident it is a wonder he doesn't hate the child." Hera said nonchalantly.

"John forgave him instantly. He even protected Sherlock when he was being whipped." Mycroft said it admiringly. He'd never admit it, but it killed him to whip John into tears. It had killed him even more to hear him beg for Sherlock to be spared.

"Master, please." John looked at him with pleading blue eyes. "Please he's only twelve. He didn't know any better." Mycroft brought the whip mercilessly down on John's back, hoping to shut him up. "He just wants to know who his father is! Please!"

Mycroft didn't touch Sherlock for the rest of the punishment. John had thanked him repeatedly afterwards, but Sherlock didn't understand. He hated Mycroft more than ever.

Hera nodded. "Good. As long as he stays close to his master I will always have control over him."


	7. James

_(Ten years later)_

John took over Sherlock's sword training shortly after he had beaten Mycroft.

Hera had granted him the power to turn into any age he desired, eternal youth for being able to control Sherlock. While he trained with Sherlock he made sure to stay young and in his prime, but when they were at home he stayed in his true age of forty seven. It pained Sherlock to see how grey he was turning some days.

As their sessions went on Sherlock began to surpass Mycroft's ability, but he could never best John. He didn't understand how the older man stayed so calm and swift in battle. John merely laughed whenever he asked and told him to relax. Sherlock soon found himself on the ground at John's feet.

"I am convinced you are cheating, Master." He said into the dirt. His bare chest had been skinned as he slid towards his master's feet. He hated fighting with no armor, but John insisted it would help with his defense.

John smiled at him. "You're holding back, Sherlock."

"Why would I hold back? You know I don't hold back." Sherlock pushed up from the ground painfully. "Not since you've added that stupid rule."

"It has been four years since I've knocked you on your stomach because of that rule." John smirked. "But your streak is over, Sherlock." He held out his foot and wiggled his toes. Sherlock gave him a disgusted look. "Oh come on, Sherlock. If you were good enough to knock me over I'd obey that rule too."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and leaned forward like he may actually give in and kiss his master's feet. At last second he tackled John to the ground, his elbow dug into his chest, and his leg pinned the older man's knees to the ground. "Yield John." Sherlock said happily.

"Oh Sherlock." John sighed heavily. "You're usually smarter than this." Sherlock glanced down at a knife sticking against his stomach. Sherlock swallowed. "Off." John said happily. Sherlock scrambled off his master with his hands in the air. John smiled and sheathed his knife.

Sherlock huffed at John. "You didn't tell me you had a knife, Master."

"Never trust your opponent Sherlock. You're not a child, and I've given you this lesson before."

"Yes Master." Sherlock bowed his head, but John could see him suppressing a smirk. John frowned at the younger man's smile.

"What?"

Sherlock pointed a slender finger towards the elastic of John's pants. A long knife hung with the tip up, it was pricking the older man's stomach. Because John had been a solider and used to viscous beatings the minor prick didn't bother him. He pulled the knife from his pants.

Sherlock smiled broadly at the older man, John blinked several times before smiling back. Sherlock had finally beaten him. John threw his head back and laughed aloud. Sherlock knelt at John's feet, his master rested his palm on Sherlock's head. "A strategy worthy of Athena, Sherlock. Well done."

John's image shimmered from a young man of thirty to his true age. Sherlock rose as his master's hand left his head. Sherlock was smiling at the smaller man, his icy blue eyes were riddled with gold.

The day Sherlock passed his master's height John had cried. He wasn't a small boy who would run to him whenever he was frightened. He was a grown man, and John would never hold him again for as long as he lived. He turned away so Sherlock wouldn't see tears in his eyes.

A man in full battle dress caught John's eye. He was standing at the other side of the arena with a dark haired man about Sherlock's age. John froze. "Sherlock kneel, now." John was already dropping to his knees when Sherlock followed him. Sherlock gave him a concerned glance.

"My lord, Ares." John said aloud, mostly for Sherlock's benefit. "To what do we owe this pleasure?" John silently begged Sherlock to keep his mouth shut. Ares would probably beat them just for fun, he knew how well Sherlock would take that.

"I heard about a young man who was growing to surpass Mycroft." The god said, Sherlock wanted to raise his eyes. The man sounded more commanding than Mycroft. He was stilled by John's obvious concern, he forced himself to remain looking towards the ground.

"Sherlock is strong, my lord, but I doubt he can best Mycroft." Sherlock snorted quietly. "Sherlock, please." John whispered.

"Do you think you can do better, boy? Answer me true slave, I don't want to hear what your master wants you to say." Ares rubbed his chin at the interesting man. Sherlock's blood was clearly starting to boil.

"My lord, I don't feel like any mortal man could beat me, aside from Master John." Sherlock's "my lord" was tainted with sarcasm. Ares aura was making him aggressive.

"And that's as modest as he gets." John mumbled.

"I will take that challenge." The man with the dark hair stepped forward. His face was eager and manipulative. He had sharp black eyes that John couldn't tear his gaze away from. There was something enticing about the man. His aura was almost as strong as Sherlock's.

"You're not a demi-god." Sherlock said softly. "You're not even mortal. The son of a nymph and a god is not any mortal man I've ever known."

"Sherlock how did you…?"

"His eyes are charcoal black, have you ever seen any human or god with those kinds of eyes? Clearly nymph. Judging by his eagerness to please Ares and his aura, he's also clearly the god's son. Look at their ears, Master. They're the same, same long hands, same body build, they're clearly father and son."

"Does that mean you don't want to face me then?" The man droned. "Borriinngg. I was promised a challenge and here I get a blacksmith. Not very interesting at all."

"Sherlock behave." John whispered, he could feel Sherlock's anger growing. "He's trying to get a rise out of you. Keep your head, and remember what I've taught you."

"Yes Master." Sherlock said shortly.

"And he's on his master's small little leash. How precious? Johnny boy teaches you some little sword tricks Sherly and now you think you can play with the big boys." The man's teasing had hit Sherlock's last nerve. He didn't care if the man taunted him, but the insult to his master was too much.

With a roar he gathered his sword and lunged at the other man. The other man produced a small knife that slashed across Sherlock's bare chest. Sherlock grimaced, but otherwise gave no notice to the fire in his chest.

"James Moriarty…hi!" The other man smiled cruelly.

Sherlock leveled his sword, this time willing to listen to his master's former lessons. He took a deep breath and relaxed. The other man attacked with a speed Sherlock had never seen before, causing him to believe the other man's mother must have been a wind nymph. Sherlock barely blocked James attacks. He watched closely the pattern the other man's feet were moving in.

He waited.

At last James moved in close enough for him to make a low swing at his legs. Sherlock felt his sword clash with shin bones and watched the other man go flying. But James was far from down.

Wind gusted back in Sherlock's face, nearly blasting off the earth. Sherlock centered his gravity and focused on redirecting the wind. He was no son of Zeus, but the winds began to part for him. He walked slowly towards the other man who was lying bloody on the arena floor. Sherlock sneered.

James cocked his head to the side. He was pulling something out from behind his back. An arrow. An arrow?

"_Never trust your opponent Sherlock. You're not a child, and I've given you this lesson before." _His master's words rang in his ears, but he hadn't even noticed the quiver at his back.

Oh.

He was thick. He was so thick. The son of a war god could easily produce weapons of his own free will. Sherlock raised his sword ready to deflect the arrows, but James aimed it somewhere else, off to the side. Sherlock blinked.

"Yield." James eyes batted. "Please."

He was pointing his arrow at John, who hadn't moved from his place since Sherlock lunged at James. Sherlock tried to deduce if the arrow would really be launched. To answer him James let it fly. It struck John in the arm, he made no noise and no move to pull it out. He kept his eyes trained on Sherlock. His head shook a little.

"Don't yield to that buggar." His eyes were saying.

Another arrow notched in James's bow. "I swear I'll end him right now, Sherlock dear." He taunted.

"Alright." Sherlock twisted his gaze on the black haired man.

"Put your sword down." Sherlock threw it next to James's right side. He glowered at him. "On your knees, please." Sherlock looked to John who was shaking his head. Sherlock merely smiled. James cocked an eyebrow.

"Forgive me, Master." Sherlock called to John. "But I learned my greatest lesson from Mycroft." His icy blue eyes met James's. "When outmatched, cheat."

He summoned the wind to launch his sword through his opponents bow, before lunging at him. He pinned him to the ground with a small knife pointed at his throat. He made James look in his eyes. "If you ever threaten my father again I will end you." He hissed. He pulled himself away from his fallen opponent and bowed low to the handsome god.

He stalked over to John and took his bleeding arm in his hands. Ares cleared his throat loudly. "John, as soon as you're cleaned up we must speak." His deep voice commanded. John looked at him unwavering and nodded. On the inside he screamed knowing the god would punish either him or Sherlock for the younger man's victory. Sherlock tugged the arrow out of his arm. John cringed.

"Master are you alright?" Sherlock whispered urgently. "You're crying."

"I'm fine Sherlock." He wiped his eyes. "Um…do you remember at all what you said to that other man when you pinned him."

"Yes Master. I said if you ever threaten my…oh." He looked taken a back. He blushed up to his eyeballs. "I'm sorry. I didn't even realize…"

"Sherlock shut up. It was cute." John laughed as Sherlock pulled him to his feet.

"I. Am. Not. Cute. Master." He said heatedly.

"Oh yes you are." John had to stand on tip toes to ruffle his boy's hair, Sherlock absent mindedly smiled at the gesture of his childhood. A green light shown over John's bare arm, the wound began to close. Sherlock still marveled at how easily his master healed wounds. John's smile was beginning to drop. "I better go see what my lord and master wants. Go to the forge Sherlock, Hephaestus wanted to see you when you were done here."

"Will you be okay by yourself?" Sherlock whispered.

"I don't know." He said truthfully. "Send Mycroft over here would you?" Sherlock frowned at the name. "Sherlock, he's my master, and believe it or not he knows what to do in situations like this. Please."

Sherlock nodded slowly. John gave him gentle shove towards the exit, Sherlock took off running towards Mycroft's home. He ran…well…he ran like the wind. He skidded to a stop outside Mycroft's door and pounded on it. "Mycroft!"

The older man opened to door slowly, his eye barely peeked through the crack. "What is it, Sherlock?" He hissed.

"John needs you, sir. Ares is trying to talk him about something, I don't know what. Please sir you have to help" Sherlock begged. He didn't want to beg the older man for anything, but for John…he swallowed his pride temporally.

Mycroft let out a heavy sigh. Slowly he opened the door and stepped out. Sherlock gasped at the sight of the half-naked man.

Mycroft's back had clearly just been brutally whipped. At the angle he was standing he looked like he was having trouble walking. Mycroft started walking towards the arena without a backwards glance at Sherlock. The younger man swallowed and wondered what Mycroft had done to get a beating like that.

He ran to the forge next. He didn't bother pounding on the door, he simply darted in. The god of the forge stood behind his block beating down on what looked like a master bolt. Sherlock noticed the strain on his face.

"Why don't you sit down before you faint, old goat?" Sherlock greeted. Hephaestus raised his head at the young man's voice with a small smile.

"Well if it isn't my little shit. Come in, boy I need your help." He held out the hammer, Sherlock accepted it. He took over as the old god sat down. Sherlock had been a small child, but due to his work in the forge he had filled out nicely. He brought the hammer down on the bolt causing sparks to fly and his bare skin to burn. He was used to it. He continued until Hephaestus nodded that he was finished. Sherlock dumped the bolt in water to watch it cool.

Hephaestus looked the most tired Sherlock had ever seen him, his beard was graying by the second and his eyes were unfocused. Immediately he grabbed his childhood water bottle off the desk and a bag that caused water to freeze. He dumped the contents of the bottle into the bag and knelt at the god's side. He pressed the pack carefully to the god's swelling calf. "Lord, you shouldn't strain yourself." He said quietly. Sherlock was fond of Hephaestus.

"I'll do whatever I want, boy." He swatted Sherlock's dark head playfully. Sherlock smiled. Hephaestus held the ice to his own leg and nodded for Sherlock to rise. Sherlock obeyed and pulled the bolt out of the water and passed it gingerly to Hephaestus. "It smells different." Sherlock stated.

"It's new material from Tartarus. Impossibly rare." The god growled. Sherlock looked at the bolt with more respect. "It will fry anything within seventy-five miles."

Sherlock's stomach twisted in knots. Why would the gods need a weapon that powerful? Why was Ares training a new warrior? Even Hera had been acting odd by speaking to John every week. Sherlock opened his mouth to question the god when the aroma of chocolate hit his nose. He turned to see Aphrodite standing in the door way with beautiful yellow dress on that left nothing to the imagination.

Sherlock knelt respectfully, but his mind was racing. He had to ask Hephaestus, or maybe John would tell him. Aphrodite ran her hand over his head in a small blessing, but Sherlock noted how her fingers lingered in his dark hair. Her thigh bumped his shoulder, he held perfectly still. Her hand left his hand, and he rose slowly. "Lord, why is a weapon of that caliber being made?"

Hephaestus hesitated. "Ask your master that and see what he tells you."

"Am I dismissed then?" Sherlock asked excitedly.

Hephaestus nodded. Sherlock bowed several times while backing up. He made a mad dash for home, leaving a baffled goddess behind him.

Hephaestus chuckled. "Well he had absolutely no interest in you."

"I…how…maybe he likes man." She muttered.

"No. No." Hephaestus was laughing. "He has a lover, a nymph that goes by Molly. She is quite the beautiful young thing. She makes him happy."

"How long…"

"Four years. It looks like I won't lose an apprentice after all." Hephaestus said cruelly to his wife.

"We will see, my lord. We will see." She said with a plan already forming in her beautiful head.

**Um...if it's not too much to ask...can you guys review this? Maybe a few suggestions? Do you like it? I have a lot of views, but no reviews. Thanks so much!**


	8. New Scars

Sherlock burst through the front door.

Mycroft was leaning over a chair's back, his face was contorted in pain. John was cleaning it carefully and muttering small prayers into it. Mycroft groaned loudly.

"You're only making it worse." He snarled.

"None of my magic is working." John said annoyed. "Jeez, Mycroft. What did you do to anger her so?"

Sherlock stepped off into the corner so he could eavesdrop. Mycroft let out a painful scream as John scrubbed his back with mortal medicine. John swabbed the cuts delicately. He stopped after a second. "Sherlock, hand me that belt that's lying on my bed would you?"

Sherlock blushed. He could never head himself from John's watchful eyes. As a child John had always found him where ever he hid. Sometimes he had hidden just to be found. He passed him the belt. "Don't go anywhere young man, you're next."

Sherlock looked down at the burn marks on his chest and stomach. He shrugged. John folded the belt three times and inserted it between Mycroft's lips. Mycroft bit it tightly. "This will hurt." John said truthfully.

He dumped nectar down Mycroft's back and watched satisfied as the wound began to close. Mycroft gave a muffled cry through the belt and slumped forward. His back was healing, but at the cost of terrible pain. Mycroft slipped into unconsciousness. His body relaxed against the chair, John sighed grateful.

"Alright, Sherlock, now you." John motioned for Sherlock to come to him.

"Master I don't need…"

"Come on Sherlock, it'll only take me five seconds for you. Unless you have an angry goddess preventing my magic."

"I don't believe I do." Sherlock smiled. John was running his hands through his sandy blonde hair and examining Sherlock's stomach where most of the burns had formed. Sherlock watched him in awe.

"What did Ares want?" Sherlock asked as green light began forming over his stomach. Sherlock grimaced a little as the burns stitched themselves back together.

"Nothing you need concern yourself with." John said patiently. "Mycroft handled it. You should thank him when he wakes up."

Sherlock snorted. "I can't thank him if I don't know what happened."

"Do you need to sit in the corner, Sherlock?" John was only half teasing. Lately Sherlock's disrespect had become more obvious. He was beginning to smart of to the gods, his arrogance was becoming untamed. John raised his eyebrows.

"I haven't sat in the corner in years." He hissed.

"I know and maybe that explains your lack of respect." John's voice was warning him.

Sherlock bit his lip. John knew he was bored, Olympus no longer interested him, and he missed Earth. It probably didn't help that he was still having nightmares about his mother's passing.

"Go get cleaned for supper. Mycroft is staying with us tonight." John sighed. Sherlock wasn't his little boy anymore, he certainly could not force him to sit in the corner. John turned away from Sherlock without another word. He let Sherlock see disappointment in his face.

"Oh for God's sake, how many times?" He knelt in the corner.

John said nothing.

"John?"

John was lifting Mycroft onto his back, he pulled the older man on to their spare cot. He laid Mycroft so his injuries were face up. He grimaced in his sleep. John pulled a blanket up to his master's knees.

"John?" Sherlock tried again.

"Sherlock, what do you want me to say? You've out grown me. I knew there would be a day when I'd look at you and see an equal, not my little boy. I just hoped to put it off a while longer, you don't have to sit in the corner…you're too old for that."

Sherlock gaped at him. "I haven't out grown you, Master."

"Sherlock." John's eyes met his with a sad look. "I'm not offended, son. It was bound to happen eventually."

"No Master, please, it's not like that." Sherlock said miserably. "There's been something strange going on. Hephaestus made a weapon, a powerful weapon. One clearly meant for war, and then Ares showed up…"

"Sherlock, Ares wanted to take you from Hephaestus and me from Apollo. They are building warriors." John said bluntly. "I agree with you something strange is happening."

"Master, do you have any idea what?" Sherlock hadn't risen from his knees.

"No. I've been trying to get it from Mycroft." He motioned for Sherlock to rise, but the younger man stayed put. "Sherlock, I forgive you. Please get cleaned up for supper."

"Is it the titans, Master?" Sherlock said cautiously. "The gods wouldn't need so many warriors if it were only humans or giants."

"No. The titans remain in Tartarus." John mumbled softly. He eyed Mycroft, who was snoring softly. "It is the…"

"Mycroft's awake." Sherlock said shortly, at last rising from his knees. "Unconscious men don't snore."

Mycroft smirked into the cot, he pushed himself up by his fists and rolled off almost gracefully. "Clever. Are you sure your mother wasn't Athena in disguise?" He rubbed his back gingerly. He wasn't sure how healed he was.

"It would explain his physical and mental strength." John mused.

"His physical strength is from his father, but his mental…"

"If my mother had been a goddess she wouldn't have died by your hand, Mycroft." Sherlock's voice had grown low with age, whenever he spoke most women would turn their ears closer to hear his voice. It was a voice riddled with power.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "No. I suppose she wouldn't have, but I also did not kill her so there's still a possibility…"

"My mother's a live?" Sherlock's jaw was inches from the floor, and John's was right beside his.

"And thriving. She has a daughter by a mortal man, and has married him."

Sherlock closed his mouth swiftly, hoping Mycroft hadn't noticed tears forming at the corners of his eyes. His mother was alive. Had she been looking for him? Had she been scared for him? Was it a trick? Did he really have a sister?

"Her daughter is six this summer. Her mother has never told her she has a brother, nor will she, I fear." Mycroft's voice wasn't gentle enough for John. He made a small snarl at his master in order to express his disagreement.

"Why?" Sherlock looked hopelessly crushed. It was all John could do not to run to his boy's aid.

"Because twenty years ago you died. Your mother saw an image of her young son being sliced in half by a servant of Hera and nearly threw herself on my sword. Stop looking at me like that, boy. It wasn't I who sent the image."

"I need to go to her. I need her to know I'm alive." He was already walking towards the door when John's hand involuntarily snatched his arm. Sherlock stopped immediately under his master's light pressure. He could see fear in the sky blue eyes.

"Sherlock…"

"Ah. I knew the boy wouldn't learn his lesson if you took his run away punishment for him, John. Look at him, ready to do it again and you shaking in your sandals. You're more scared of him running than he is." Mycroft chuckled.

"I'm not running. I'll be back. I need to see my mother." Sherlock said harshly, but did not pull his arm from John's grasp.

"It doesn't work that way, Sherlock." John's voice was gentle, but clearly frightened. "You...you can't…" He was struggling to find the bravery to tell his boy he could not see his mother again. "Sherlock if you leave it counts as running. Hera won't let you leave for your mother, she won't. If you have to see her…if you want to see your mother again, I won't stop you son." He released the younger man's arm and stepped away. "But stay gone Sherlock. They'll kill you if you come back here."

"It would take less than a day…" Sherlock sounded, for the first time in his life, pleading.

"It's still running, son." John said gently.

Sherlock looked torn between his mother and his father. "I…Mycroft is there anything I can do…please?"

"Sherlock, you're observations are correct. There is a war coming between the gods and the originals. And your father is leading the charge." Mycroft's voice was far away. "If you can beat him you may see your mother again."

"So, I have to choose between my father or my mother and my master." Sherlock said bluntly.

"Yes." Mycroft said shortly. "It isn't like you've had contact with your father in years, Sherlock."

John noticed his boy's hands twitch slightly. It was Sherlock's tell whenever he was lying, John frowned. "Sherlock?"

"He's still my father." Sherlock said harshly. He regretted the words as soon as hurt appeared on John's face. Sherlock bowed his head in confusion. He ran his hand through his dark hair.

"Have you been speaking to him, boy?" Mycroft demanded.

"You know I'm monitored." Sherlock said numbly.

"You are a clever lad and so is your father."

"I don't even know who he is!" Sherlock shouted.

"Sherlock, your father is…" John was starting to say.

"Jonathan if you finish that sentence you will regret it." Mycroft hissed.

"He wants to know." John said hotly.

"Do not push me." Mycroft's voice was deadly.

"Or…"

Mycroft struck him as hard as he could across the jaw. Mycroft, like John had the ability to change ages. Unlike John he was always in his prime, John had been in his normal age when he was struck. Something behind Sherlock's eyes snapped, and the icy eyes became gold. He wrenched Mycroft away from John.

Mycroft crashed painfully through the wall of the house. Blood dripped into his eyes as he laid half-conscious against a tree. Sherlock followed him through the hole with murder in his eyes. He picked Mycroft up by the front of his toga and slammed him repeatedly into the trunk of the solid gold tree.

Mycroft's eye began to turn as gold as Sherlock's. He grabbed the younger man's wrists and ground the bone together. Sherlock gritted his teeth and threw him as far away from him as he could. Mycroft landed gracefully on his feet. His voice came out as powerful as the wind. "You think you are the only son of an original!" He roared.

He slammed his shoulder into Sherlock's gut and heard the wind whistle from his lungs. The younger man flipped midair and landed on his feet. John had taught him well. Sherlock was waiting him out, he didn't dare charge him. His eyes narrowed as he watched Mycroft closely.

Mycroft smirked, he felt the wind rushing up behind him. John knew many things, but controlling the winds had always been Mycroft's specialty. He let them build up behind him and when the moment was right he charged the younger man with the strength of the wind behind him. His blow landed squarely on Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock was knocked on his back for the first time in their battle. He rolled painfully to his stomach and push went to push himself up, but Mycroft pinned him between the shoulder blades with his knee. Sherlock grimaced.

"I thought you were stronger than me." Mycroft punctuated each word with a stomp to Sherlock's ribs. The young man said nothing. "Say something!" He stomped again.

Sherlock said nothing, but pointed slowly to where John was standing. Sherlock coughed blood up. "He…told me to…stop." He said shakily. His eyes had returned to normal. "Empathy link."

Mycroft pulled a knife from his belt. He laced his hand through the young man's dark curls. "It wouldn't have made a difference. I am better than you." He spat.

"No." Sherlock sighed. "You. Are. Boring."

Mycroft slashed a long line from Sherlock's left temple to the side of his chin. Blood spurted out of the gash, Sherlock cried out in pain. "Aphrodite taught me this trick, boy. Where she called it "mummy magic" I call it a tighter leash." He placed his hand over the wound and watched it scar.

"Do not cross me again." He threw Sherlock to the ground. He looked for John, who had maintained a poker face, but was walking quickly to Sherlock. He knelt by his boy's side and tentively placed a hand on his back. Sherlock hid his face. "You were wrong John. I feel nothing for him, I don't care that he's my brother, I don't care that he's your son. I care about obedience, and that is what I have given him."

John looked at him with such hatred that Mycroft stepped back. He had never seen hate before in those sky blue eyes. "You haven't given him obedience, Mycroft. You gave him a scar, and you only achieved that because Sherlock allowed you to. Aphrodite is a goddess and therefore able to command obedience, for this spell to be conjured by a mortal there must first be fear in the heart of the victim. My son does not fear you."

He slung Sherlock's tired body of his shoulder.

"And neither do I."


End file.
